The Five Times He Lived
by silver cat 777
Summary: The two times Harry lived when he should have died in the books, and my three additions to that. Then comes the one time he didn't. Was originally going to be a prologue of a novel-length fic, but I couldn't follow through.


**Title:** Deity

**Summary:** Merlin and Morgana, Circe and Medea, even Hecate and Aradia, they were all mortal once. They earned godhood. So would he, and Gods show mercy to those who stand in his way, because he sure won't.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter does not belong to me. I do not gain money from using its concepts and characters in amateur writing. The plotline and other concepts that one may not recognise might belong to me. Other places and works of literature, music, or art that you may recognise belong to their respective owners, and not me. They are simply ways of making this slightly more realistic. All direct quotes will be cited at the end of each chapter and will be marked by ** in the actual text, one at the start, and one at the end. Most songs and poems will be mine, but should there be any that are not, they will be cited similarly.

**Chapter summary:** The Dursleys put Harry in an orphanage. Who will adopt him?

**Chapter word count:** 1617

**Story word count:** 1617

* * *

Prologue: Ending and Beginning

_As one man loses wars, another man wins.  
__As one man's story ends, another's begins.  
__The world runs in circles, 'round and 'round again,  
__And we have to watch it, while going insane,  
__For we are gods, cursed with immortality,  
__But we wished this upon us, blame only we.  
__We thought we had earned this 'amazing blessing',  
__But fate can keep even deities dancing._

_Secret Location_

_Saturday, Samhain, 1981_

_19:00_

*"Lily, take Harry and go! It's Him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off–"* James was cut off suddenly by the suffocating wave of Dark that he felt approaching. He pushed Lily up the stairs and stumbled across the room. Before he could reach the door, however, it burst open by itself. Voldemort cackled, the sound of this sinister laughter echoed up the staircase and through the door of the nursery to reach Lily, whose only thoughts were on, not herself, but her beloved spouse, who was in terrible danger, battling the current Dark Lord, and her baby, little Harry, who was the intended target of tonight's attack, all due to that accursed prophecy.

Lily picked up Harry, who stirred slightly. Holding her still sleeping child snug against her chest, she got ready to apparate to the safe house the couple had prepared in case of a situation exactly like this, but as she started to spin, she was suddenly thrown back into the settings of the modest nursery. _The bastard put anti-apparition charms around the cottage!_ Lily thought, passionate rage coursing through her veins, heating and cooling at the same time. _Cheater! _She put Harry back down in the crib and got out her wand, activating the last layer of protection that she had prepared for her baby.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" The terrible curse was followed by the same cold laughter that announced the arrival of the psychotic villain.

Lily sobbed, knowing then that her husband was dead. The door banged open as she finished naming the last rune of the ritual. She used a nonverbal, weak Severing Charm at her hand, letting blood drop onto Harry's head. In the second it took for the blood to drop, Voldemort had already entered and positioned himself for duel.

The battle was short, and when Lily was disarmed, she backed up, using her body as a shield for Harry. He laughed again.

*"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please! I'll do anything!"* she begged, knowing that it was hopeless, but attempting anyway.

*"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl."* The Dark Lord flicked his wand in annoyance.

*"Not Harry, not Harry, please, not Harry!"* she tried again with no avail.

*"Stand aside, you silly girl; stand aside, now!"* He's already given her two chances, so Severus had better be pleased about this. This just shows that even blood as noble as the Prince's could succumb to flimsy emotions like love. He took a step forwards.

*"Not Harry! Please, no, take me! Kill me instead!"* The voice was laced with desperation. She faltered as he stepped closer, having decided that he would kill her anyway; if the girl was so idiotic as to prefer that someone else lived instead of herself, then she deserved to die.

*"Not Harry! Please, have mercy! Have mercy!"* He sighed, tired of her pleas.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

He wondered why there seemed to be a trace of a smirk as she passed away. Shrugging it off, he turned to the boy that woke sometime during the 'duel'. To think that the baby could have grown up to rival him in power…

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Then, all he knew was pain.

* * *

_Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England_

_Monday, November 2__nd__, 1981_

_07:30_

Petunia Dursley opened the door to get the foggy milk bottles that was to be turned into breakfast for Vernon and her little Dudley. Instead of the usual sight that greeted her, however, was a basket. Stuffed into the sides were a stack of papers and an envelope with, strangely, violet and gold ink. That was not the most unusual thing about that basket, though, because what the papers were stuffed around was far more frightening. In the middle of the basket, warm and snug in layers of blue blankets, was a baby. Like the normal person she was, Petunia did what any other woman would do; she screamed for her husband.

The sudden and loud noise woke up the child, and he blinked open his eyes. Petunia paled. She had seen those yes before; the brilliant green features were carbon copies of those of her sister's. Vernon looked dumbly at the situation for a moment before ushering her inside, dragging the basket with them.

She opened the letter, which, strangely, was addressed to her as Petunia Evans. Perhaps their kind didn't pay much attention to mere mortals, being ignorant of her marriage like that.

_Dear Petunia,_

_It seems like yesterday that you wrote to me, asking for a place in Hogwarts, but, alas, it was not meant to be. Your sister and her husband have died of a terrible tragedy, orphaning little Harry. I wouldn't impose on your kindness, but this is the only way, for, you see, Harry is in grave danger. Let me begin from the start. Late August of '79, a clairvoyant told a prophecy. It foretold of a boy who would be able to defeat a horrible villain in our world. There were two boys that could have been it, but this villain, Dark Lord Voldemort, chose Harry. Halloween night, he attacked Lily and James's home, and killed both of them. However, when he tried to do the same to Harry, the Killing Curse backfired on him. I think that it is due to an ancient sacrifice Lily made, but though it may seem like it, I am sad to say that Voldemort is not dead. Even if he was, his followers are still at large, and would want to avenge their Lords vanquisher._

_Now, there are two reasons as to why I am placing Harry in your home. As I have mentioned, Lily called on an ancient and powerful protection using sacrifice, but it was based on blood. Due to your shared blood with your sister, I was able to recreate that protection in the form of wards around this house. The first result is that Harry will be protected from those who wish him harm, and the second is that you, also, will be protected from those who would wish to harm the Saviour through his relatives, so, in hopes that you will treat Harry as your own, I have placed in the basket official papers which I have charmed to look like authentic Muggle documents in case any legal matters. Worry not about the charm wearing off; it should last at least seventeen years._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Petunia finished reading the letter and gaped at it. The audacity of the man would alarm any sensible person, but, then again, he _was_ one of _them_.

"No," she said as Vernon also finished reading the letter. "I will not raise that… that _freak_ along with my little Dudley. I won't!" She looked to her husband for approval.

"I agree. We wouldn't want Dudley tainted by his strangeness." Vernon sneered angrily at the strange stationary, wrapping his arm around Petunia.

* * *

_Bishop Carol's Home for Children, Bedford Road, Little Whinging, Surrey, England_

_Saturday, June 12__th__, 1983_

_09:00_

"What's his name?" asked Bianca Pilliwickle, pointing to the green-eyed toddler.

"Oh, that's Harry Potter. He's a good kid, quiet, but very well behaved," the matron supplied.

Bianca's eyes widened. "What's his middle name?"

"It starts with a 'J', I think, but I'm not entirely sure. Would you like me to get his papers?"

"Please, I might want to adopt him."

As the kind woman left to retrieve the documents, Bianca mused to herself. It was strange the Harry Potter would end up here, of all places. Of course her status as a Squib would not stop her from knowing the gossip of the wizarding world, but she had thought that The-Boy-Who-Lived had been placed somewhere secure. It just wouldn't do for the Saviour to grow up in an orphanage. No, she'll contact her mother for help. _Yes, Mother would help. We could raise him in the Spanish villa, away from the war recovery, and perhaps his fame._

She walked over to where the little boy was. Kneeling down, she watched as he played with the toy motorcycle. He was flying it over the model trees and mountains. "Vroom, vroom!" He imitated the revving sound of the machinery.

"Hello," she greeted, "I'm Bianca." When Harry looked up at her, she prompted. "What's your name?"

"I'm Harry," he whispered shyly.

"How are you today, Harry?" She tried to put on the nicest smile she could. Apparently, it worked.

"I'm good, you?" he responded politely, not as timid in face of kindness.

"I am as well. What are you doing there?"

"It's a flying motorcycle. I dream about it sometimes." He paused. "I've strange dreams," he muttered dejectedly.

"Oh? Could you tell me what they are?"

"Well, I always dream about screaming and green lights, but I sometimes dream about flying brooms and green fires with faces in them. The matron says that it can't happen."

Bianca's eyes widened further. "Want to know a secret?" she whispered conspiratorially. When the black mob of hair bobbed quickly, she breathed into his ear, "I've seen flying broomsticks _and_ the green fire. They're real."

"Really?"

"Yes. Actually, let me make you an offer. If you come home with me, I'll show them to you."

"Of course!" Harry smiled brightly, but then, he sagged.

"What's wrong?"

He hesitated, but She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging grin. "Do I really have to come back here?"

Bianca yelled mentally in celebration. "Not if you don't want to."

* * *

**AN:** Quotes are from chapters 9 and 12 of _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Pilliwickle is the last name of a famous head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that I read about in the Harry Potter Lexicon. I know that this plotline is extremely clichéd, but, this is purely for fun until I can get my muse going again for the story that I'm supposed to be working on. I make no guarantee that this will be finished, but, oh, well. The first part is from an old one-shot of mine that was supposed to be a prologue for something completely different, but I abandoned it. My, I really am bad with my follow-throughs, aren't I? So, I know that in the Lexicon, they think that there was the sound of stumbling and laughter _right_ before Lily begging for Harry's life, but when I checked in the book, it was actually directly after James talking, so, well say that it was Lily stumbling out of the room. Also, in the letter, I said that the prophecy was made late August of 1979. I know that because it sais in chapter 37 _Order of Phoenix_ when Dumbledore heard it. Lastly, I know that Harry sounds 'surprisingly' mature for a toddler, but he's almost three. I could recite the multiplication table by that age! There are children who develop earlier than others; let's just say that he's like that.


End file.
